


I didn't expect to see you again

by 898700 (ghostwriter)



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter/pseuds/898700
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rising NBA star, Chad has been through a lot since leaving East High.  Nothing as his re-encounter with Ryan Evans, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Looking for a beta. Please excuse the mistakes until I find one.

"It'll be fun, Danforth, come on!"

Chad snickered. It was not a good idea, he knew. He might be lost to the world, as his snickering clearly showed, but that only strengthened his resolve to stay _here_. It wouldn't make his reputation any good if he were to be spotted drunk at some crash party, or worst, at some car crash.

God. He was too intoxicated to attempt word jokes.

"Number 22, are you or are you not part of this team?"

And _that_ was Roberts' voice; Roberts, the team's captain and leader in and outside the court. Roberts, he who could crush Chad's starting career in a whim.

"I´m going, I'm going."

He ended in a sparkling new silver Camaro's back seat (nice car, leather seats, gleaming wax coat, purring engine), continually elbowed due to McLaren, Xian and Davidson's childish antics. But at least Montoya was the one driving, and Chad knew for sure the guy didn't drink.

They parked before he knew what was going on -- and yet not soon enough, according to Chad's ribs. Monday's training was going to be hell, even if he devoted half of the already rolling Sunday to rest his hangover. Then he was on his feet before he managed to catch on what was going on, yet again.

The party was _insane_ , even from the perspective of a guy who had had more than a healthy load of insane parties in the last five months. But then, he had never been this drunk before; maybe the party's apparent extra insanity came from his extra inebriated state -- sensatory overload or something.

"Here, drink this!"

Roberts' words were both an order and a shout, as it was the way he usually communicated while smashed. But despite Chad's respect for the man's sport prowess, he didn't feel inclined to comply on this. He didn't know what the blue liquid was. Or what the milky substance in the glass' bottom was. Or where the hell he was.

Montoya arched an eyebrow at him, _I don't like this place_.

Chad shook his head in return, _I don't like it either_.

They only had these silent conversations when drunk; that is, when _Chad_ was drunk, even if he never got as drunk as the others. Not as drunk as he currently was, anyway. Montoya usually appreciated that Chad knew his limits and tried to stay within them.

Not today, though.

"Now, _that's_ a sight!"

So, there were some truths Chad had learned about his team partners. _These_ team partners, anyway; Robert's closer group. He would never share these little bits of information, willingly or not -- they were the best players among the whole team, the ones with a future, and therefore the ones with more to lose. One slip from Chad, a wrong word in the wrong ears, and he could destroy their careers.

They could destroy his career too, even if only with lies or exaggerating his minor mistakes. They, on the other hand, were a decadent bunch, each one in a particular style. Roberts was the worst when it came to alcohol and parties; still, he didn't do drugs -- but then, that was Davidson's specialty. Xian was a more laid down guy, almost like Chad himself; although it had to be said that the man had an unfortunate gaming addiction, and most of his money went into keeping his creditors at bay. And Montoya might be the most responsible among them, but he also was the one Chad knew for sure used steroids.

And then there was McLaren. Ah, good ol' McLaren was a lecher. A satyr, Montoya had called him once. Not being one for metaphors, Chad preferred to think of him as the most sex-driven dude he had ever met. McLaren didn't care about little things like gender and age. The first meant Roberts had had to break his nose to stop him from molesting their team mates, or so the rumor said; the second meant the police would have locked him in jail years ago, were they to know how young some of his bed partners were.

Chad had no desire to discover who the guy's next victim would be (he was tired of keeping that particular secret) but still he followed McLaren's gaze. The man had an incredible good taste, after all -- something Chad reluctantly acknowledged half of the time, as half of the time McLaren's trophies weren't of the fair gender.

Maybe Chad should change that last phrase: they weren't _females_. The individual McLaren was marking to be hunted had never been other than fairy, despite being male.

And Chad couldn't let him fall in his team mate's clutches.

"That one's mine," he declared, leaving their startled partners behind. It wasn't the brightest idea he had ever had, but under his current conditions he couldn't think of another excuse. He had to move fast, or kill himself to avoid witnessing how McLaren lured this one.

That he didn't pause to think his next words was not a problem -- alcohol always made him babbly.

"Looking good," he said, taking the stool by the would-be-victim's right, and a little surprised at how slurred his voice sounded. Apparently Ryan Evans noticed it too, as his eyebrow arched questioningly. And _boy_ , did he look good. McLaren was right: he was a sight. Eye-candy, if Chad had ever seen one.

The eyebrow was still arched when Chad's gaze returned to his ex-schoolmate's face.

"Buy me something?" Evans asked, already signaling the bartender, _two of the same_.

There was no recognition in his demeanor, something that made Chad frown. He hadn't change that much in those few years, had he? Sure, his hair was shorter, and he was now a full grown man, and he had a goatee. But nothing of it would prevent an old acquaintance from recognizing him.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, dropping a bill on the counter and taking a sip. "This is water!" he sputtered almost immediately.

" _Seltzer_ water," Evans declared with a grin, toasting in his direction before drinking. "And yes, I know who you are: Chad Danforth, a NBA's rising start … and one who shouldn't be found in a place like this."

There was something in his tone. Worry? A warning? Chad couldn't say. Still, Evan's face hadn't showed any of it -- there was a mischievous half-grin in his mouth, an alluring glint in his eyes. A promise in the way he slightly tipped his head to the left.

"Peter Parker, by the way," he suddenly said, extending his right hand for Chad to shake.

"What?" Chad chuckled. What game was Evans playing?

"I know, I know," the blonde rolled his eyes. "I have heard enough Spiderman's jokes to last me a lifetime. Just call me Pete, okay?"

Chad frowned again, his brain fuzzy.

"But that's not--"

A hand pulled his shirt, and Chad suddenly found himself standing in front of a still seated Ryan Evans, the blonde's mouth really close to Chad's ear.

"My name is _Pete_ and you've never seen me before," Evans whispered frantically. "Not if you wish to leave this place in one piece."

Chad could have said something, anything, but in that moment two heavy hands landed on his shoulders and roughly increased the distance between Evans and himself. The black dressed gorilla who had attacked them kept Chad's biceps in a painful grip, the obvious purpose to keep him from running away. And there was a second man, younger and lither than Gorilla Man -- although _that_ guy's victim wasn't Chad, as his attention was single-mindedly focused somewhere else.

When the man finally released his prey, Chad couldn't keep from noticing Evans' mouth, pinkish and wet, or his flushed state. The only reason he finally took his eyes from the enticing image was the man's glare, one that made the guy look as dangerous as his monster of a bodyguard; more, even. His voice was definitely laced in venom.

"Was he bothering you, baby?"

Evans' laughter was not the one Chad remembered. It was throaty and slightly naughty; a little condescending as well. It suited the blonde's change in demeanor, Chad decided, as he suddenly looked … predatory.

"I'm not your baby, Oscar," he said, sliding gracefully from the stool and pressing himself to the man's front. "And no, he wasn't bothering me. _I_ was bothering him."

Evans lingering gaze set Chad on fire, even after the blonde chuckled derogatorily at him and turned to leisurely kiss the man again.

"You little slut," the man stated with a lazy smile when the kiss ended, both of his hands firmly placed on Evans's lower back. "One day you're going to get someone killed with that teasing of yours."

Evans' pout made his lips even more desirable, in Chad's opinion -- not that anybody was asking for it. In fact, the only one paying attention to him seemed to be Gorilla Man. The other two only had eyes for each other, the blonde's fingers playing with the man's buttons.

"You don't want me to have fun?" he moped. Chad really didn't want to witness this.

"I'm all the fun you need," was said with a tone that made it sound almost as a death threat.

Evans remained nonplused. "But you haven't been around," he stated, his hands disappearing inside of the man's jacket. "I've grown restless."

Chad could say the man was reluctant to shred Evans off him, but he did it when a second group (two bodyguards, one big fish, if you went with movies' clichés) approached them. The man acknowledged their presence with a nod before addressing Evans again.

"I can help with that once this is settled."

"Of course, _work_ ," Evans took a step back, rolling his eyes. "I'll better go home; these things take _hours_ and are boring as hell."

Chad should be panicking at being abandoned in the middle of these dangerous looking men, but Evans took his wrist while leaving. The bodyguard didn't let go, thought, and the blonde turned to frown at who was apparently his sugar daddy. The man glared back, but nodded once, sharply, and Chad was free again.

" _Pete_." It was a warning, a second death threat.

"Have I ever betrayed you?" Evans shouted back with a dazzling smile, never stopping, pulling a speechless Chad with him across the throngs of dancers, drinkers, chatters, almost reaching the main doors when

hell broke loose

In the following mayhem, Chad found himself brusquely shoved to the floor, pushed, pulled, kicked and covered in glass and dust. Screams and gunfire made it impossible to discern what was being said, except for three words.

"Police! Don't move!"


	2. Chapter 2

How long had it been? Chad's head pounded painfully, the hangover hitting full force. He knew he was at a police station --the patrolmen who brought him in had said so-- but he had no idea how many hours had passed. Fortunately, somebody in the PD seemed to recognize Roberts, and the six of them ended in an interrogation room; no holding cell for a NBA star. Unfortunately, the policeman apparently wasn't enough of a fan to let them go.

The door opened again. It was Montoya.

"Ah, you too survived the inquisition!" Xian chirped, and Chad took a moment to hate his team mate's sunny disposition. Now that Montoya was back, Chad remained the only one yet to face interrogation. The nervousness didn't help him feel any better.

The Coach followed Montoya into the room. Chad groaned: just what he needed.

"I'll talk to each one of you later," he said tersely, his tone apparently calm but his eyes betraying how angry he really was. "Let's leave this place first … except for Danforth."

"What?!" Chad was about to throw himself in an outraged speech, but the Coach's icy stare made him shut his mouth.

"These _gentlemen_ still have to talk to you," the Coach said nodding in the door's direction, where a man and a woman, apparently detectives, waited. "The City has agreed to keep this down, but we have to leave before the press shows up."

"But I--"

"Look, Danforth," the Coach interrupted him. "I don't like it either, but there's nothing to be afraid about. The guys all went through this already and there has been no problem; it's just standard procedure."

Chad looked at his partners at those words. That was true; none of the others seemed particularly worried. McLaren winked at him.

"The Mayor has promised me they'll take you to your place discretely and as soon as possible," the Coach continued. "You are going to be okay."

Chad nodded. Of course. Everything was going to be okay.

\---  
Things went wrong right from the beginning.

"Did you recognize anybody at last night's reunion?" the woman asked as soon as the door was closed and the three of them were left alone.

"Mo," the man admonished before taking a chair and addressing Chad. "I'm Agent Mora and this is my partner Agent Grey," he said with a smile. "So?"

"So?" Chad asked. To his embarrassment, his voice cracked.

"Did you recognize anybody at last night's reunion?"

Chad's sweat was dead cold. It was exactly what he had been dreading for hours, a nightmare came true.

"Well, I recognized my team mates …" he trailed off. Grey scoffed and took the seat behind her partner.

"And?"

"And," Chad shrugged, his mind failing to provide a believable lie. "I was pretty drunk, m'sorry," he finished lamely.

To his surprise, instead of questioning him more, Grey and Mora looked at each other with something like worry.

"He really is a lame liar," the woman said, and Mora nodded.

"Get up," he ordered, going to the door. "Be sure to cover your face," he said, throwing a hoodie in Chad's direction.

Not knowing what else to do, Chad complied.

The detectives took him out of the room in silence, then to the closed parking lot under the police station. Chad remained quiet as long as he could, even when Grey shoved him in a black van's back seat -- but twenty minutes passed and they were still on the streets. His apartment wasn't that far away, Chad knew. Actually, judging from the surroundings, they were closer to--

"Why are we by the harbors?" he asked anxiously. His nervousness increased exponentially when Mora made a tight turn to the left and drove directly into a warehouse.

"Get out," the man ordered, cutting down the engine. Darkness surrounded them when the warehouse's gate closed behind them.

"You are not detectives," Chad declared, knowing without a doubt he was right. He didn't feel like doing what they asked anymore, but Grey glared at him from the other door, so he gloomily got out of the vehicle.

"Not this City's police detectives," the woman declared with a sly smile, guiding him to the second floor. "DEA Agents Moira Grey and Adam Mora; it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Danforth."

Of course, he didn't believe it right away, but the shock of what waited upstairs made him forget to voice his doubts. Behind a door adorned with a) a small screen, b) a keyboard, and c) and d) card and fingerprint readers, there was the most astounding collection of old and state-of-art technology Chad had ever seen. Enormous servers and flat screens were side to side with pin-adorned maps and chalkboards. And then there were the men and women, busily pacing from one side of the room to the other, furiously typing, going over graphs and lists, discussing. It almost looked like an anthill under attack.

"This is him?" an impressive looking woman appeared out of nowhere, making Chad jump. She came across as old and young at once, her short hair completely white yet her eyes clear and clever.

"He was right, boss," Mora said to the woman. "Not that I'm surprised."

She nodded and motioned Chad to follow her. He did so, reluctantly, while Mora and Grey left in another direction.

"I'm Chief O'Shea," the woman said, closing the door of the smaller room she had guided him into. "Are you aware as to what happened earlier this morning?"

"Uh … no, not really," Chad mumbled. He hadn't really paused to follow the dots, but now that he thought it, if these guys really were part of the DEA, and knowing that the DEA's main objective was-- oh damn. How the hell did he end so deep in shit? And, more important, what mess was Evans into?

"I get you haven't seen the news," O'Shea declared, taking a remote control and pointing it at a TV screen in the far side of the room. The sound blasted before she muted it, but the headlines ribbon gave Chad all the information he needed.

 _Drug Lords detained in DEA operative_

He kept reading, but stopped processing it until a name made him focus again.

Oscar Salvatti, of the infamous Salvatti family. He had been in the news almost daily last year, during the hoax that cost two ABC reporters their careers. They insisted on Salvatti having financed a murder attempt against the US President, although they couldn't show proof, and in the end had to admit on it being nothing but an elaborate lie. Still, the man's picture appeared on the news so frequently that Chad knew he would recognize that face right away, if he were to encounter him in the streets … except he obviously didn't, as last night's meeting showed.

Yes, he was that Oscar.

And according to the television, the other three men, the ones Chad had believed were just a guy and his bodyguards, actually were Joseph Coastello, Anant Shenoy and one of the Mendoza Brothers. The one believed to be dead, in fact.

Four of the world's most important Drug Lords together in one place, and Chad happened to be there too. Shit. Talk about bad timing.

"A couple witnesses recall you talking to these men, Mr. Danforth," O'Shea finally said, and Chad turned to look at her, stunned. Was she suggesting he knew them?

"I wasn't talking to them!" he rushed to declare. "This is a misunderstanding."

"Is it, Mr. Danforth?" she stated in a disbelieving tone, opening a folder and handing Chad the picture in it. It was in whites and blacks, and clearly showed Salvatti saying something and intently glaring at Chad while the other three men approached.

Evans' eyes showed in a light shade of grey.

"He's Salvatti's main hitman, Paulo Lucas," the woman pointed at the guy standing behind Chad in the picture. Then she pointed at Evans. "This one we haven't been able to identify." She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"I'd never seen the guy," he murmured in a half voice.

A second picture replaced the first. This was from an earlier moment, when Evans had pulled him in front of the bar. The blonde was half-smiling, as if telling a secret or sharing something interesting, his left hand closed around a fistful of Chad's shirt. Chad's right hand was on Evans' tight, maybe to prevent them from crashing.

Chad couldn't remember putting it there.

"What's the guy's name, Mr. Danforth?"

Could he keep denying acquaintance? Well … there was a possible solution. It could even help.

"Peter Parker," he declared, trying to control his voice. "He said his name was Peter Parker."

O'Shea frowned.

"You sound as if you didn't believe it."

Chad chuckled nervously. Of course he didn't believe it! "It seemed like a joke," he admitted, thankful and starting to relax. "An old one, in fact."

"But you do know the man's real name, don't you?" Chad froze. "Yes you do."

She said something so low Chad couldn't understand it, but he was almost sure it was swearing. Then she looked up and nodded to a camera hanging in a corner. Of course, Chad hadn't even noticed it before.

"You realize I'm not really interrogating you, Mr. Danforth?" she asked, but didn't wait for him to answer. "These are just some friendly questions, a much tame version to what Law allows officers to do if there's the need. Criminals," and there she motioned in the TV's direction, "can do worse. Do you agree?"

Chad gaped at her. He couldn't say if she honestly was asking for his opinion, or if he was being threatened, or what.

There was a knock in the door.

"Come in," O'Shea invited in a curt voice, and a familiar face appeared. It would have been more familiar if the hair were blonde, the skin paler and the eyes blue, but the smile was one he had seen many times.

"E--"

"Enough!" the woman growled at Chad, frowning at him before looking directly at the camera. "Stop the recording; cut the last five minutes," she ordered and then turned to the much-changed Evans. "He's really terrible."

"Chad has never been much of a liar, which most people might find a good thing," Evans declared with an even sunnier smile, closing the door behind him.

O'Shea's frown grew deeper. "Not such a good thing if it puts one of our best agents at risk."

And with that, Chad finally found the strength to move.

"Wait. Agent? _You_ are an agent?"

The woman sighed and ignored Chad.

"I wouldn't allow this to anybody else, René," she said to Evans. "Nonetheless, you've proved yourself a good judge of human nature."

And with that, not even addressing Chad again, she left.

"She called you _Rene_ ", he pointed as soon as the door was closed. "And you are really an agent? A DEA agent?"

Evans chuckled.

" _Special_ Agent René Herblay, actually," he admitted. "Everybody here knows the name's a fake, and I would like to keep the real one a secret, so we better leave."

"But won't the Chief --" Chad started to say, but stopped at Evans' serious face. In silence, he followed his ex-classmate to the first floor, then to the black van he had came in.

Mora and Grey were already there.

"Nice hair," she said with a mocking grin.

"Shame I can't say the same of yours," Evans quipped, grinning back.

"And that's what I get for being nice."

Mora chuckled from behind the wheel. "That was a great job last night," he said, using the rearview to look at Evans. "Best than the boss expected, I heard."

"Thanks," Evans answered with a tight smile. "Although, considering she was expecting impending doom and mass destruction, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is."

"Mass destruction?" Chad asked in a half voice, wincing when two pairs of eyes and the reflection of a third focused on him. But then a cell phone ringed, thankfully, and everybody kept silent while Grey hmmed and nodded at whatever was being said on her line.

"That was O'Shea," the female agent said, closing her phone. "Michel Salvatti is missing, and guess what. The CIA agrees with our analysis of the situation."

Evans, sitting by Chad's right side, smiled weakly at her. "Well, finally."

"Any relation with, uh … last night's Salvatti?" Chad asked, looking closely at his ex-schoolmate and trying to ignore the DEA agents on the front seats.

"Baby brother," Mora said in a chipper tone, this time keeping his eyes focused on the street. "Oh, and possibly the strongest candidate to take Oscar Salvatti's place in the cartel."

All Chad could manage at the answer was a "Huh." After all, no matter the circumstances, this wasn't his life.

He didn't want it to be his life.

"So do we have green light?" Grey asked, handing Evans a backpack and hitting Chad with a loose strap in the process.

"Hey!" he complained but she simply smiled, unrepentant.

Evans took the bag and started rummaging through it. "From O'Shea, yes," he said, his voice a little distracted as his attention remained focused on the bag's contents. "I still have to speak to all involved parties."

Mora's not-discreet-at-all rearview glance gave Chad the horrible idea that, maybe, he was one of those involved parties. Turning to face Evans, questions ready to sprout from his lips just to find him rolling his eyes kind of confirmed the idea, too.

"And that's why I am the one doing the infiltration work," Evans tiredly declared, glaring at the back of the agent's head. "A rookie mistake, seriously, Mo?"

"I, uh, thought _she_ was Mo," Chad shoot without thinking.

Evans' smile was a little bit sadistic, in Chad's opinion. "They both are Mo. It throws people off the rails."

"We even have a comedic routine!" Grey piped up with a smile that had too many teeth for Chad's peace of mind.

"Somehow that fails to reassure me," he declared in all honesty.

The car stopped then, with Mora seamlessly parking it by what Chad recognized as the North entrance to the city's main park.

"And that exactly is the point," the male agent declared with a serious face, keeping his hands in the steering wheel and using the mirror again instead of turning around. "Be careful, kid. Kermit is taking a big risk to keep you safe."

Before Chad could ask for clarification, though, Evans had pulled him out of the car and they were standing in the curb while the black vehicle disappeared in the distance.

"Who's Kermit?" he finally managed, making Evans burst out in laughter and leaving Chad even more confused.


	3. Chapter 3

"They were supposed to take me to my place," Chad huffed, uncomfortably sweaty and glaring against blinding sunlight.

In front of him, Evans trekked apparently unfazed across what had to be the park's more extensive section of trees, all protruding roots and low hanging branches.

"We are supposed to do so _discreetly_ ; a large black vehicle with tinted windows hardly qualifies."

Chad glared again, this time directly in direction of Evans' voice. "I doubt me looking like I went through a war zone qualifies, either."

Evans stopped then, turning with what Chad guessed was a questioning look. He didn't care, though. He simply sat down heavily before flopping on his back.

Right on a root, of course, because his life was shit.

"And here I believed you were a professional athlete," Evans mumbled somewhere from above. Chad couldn't pinpoint whether he was left or right much less the distance. All he knew for certain was that the guy wasn't inside of his head, even if every little sound he produced seemed to.

"Well, excuse me for being human and suffering from a hangover."

A _thud_ that probably was soft even if Chad's headache begged to differ was followed by rustling. Then something cool was pushed in his left hand, and it only took him a moment to realize that it was a bottle of water, thank God for little miracles.

"I'd have expected you to get used to them by now," Evans mumbled while Chad gulped down the cool liquid, and the voice was so flat and uninterested it finally downed on him that something, other _something_ , was wrong. Opening his eyes carefully and fighting against the fog pain, he squinted at his sitting companion.

Evans' face was blank.

Chad couldn't remember ever seeing a face as empty as Evans' currently was. It chilled him, especially because he had the spark of an idea of what had brought it up.

"Last night was …" he paused, words colliding into his head. "I usually don't drink that much," he tried again, looking down at the bottle. "Not enough for a hangover, at any rate."

There was no answer to his declaration, and for the longest moment Chad racked his brains trying to look for something further to add. He was eventually saved by rattling noise, which he immediately realized came from a bottle of pills. When he extended his hand and a single tablet was delicately placed there, Chad immediately recognized it as a common painkiller, a countertop medicine his mother used to give him once he was old enough to leave child pills behind.

She used to give him two tablets, the suggested dose.

It hurt, even despite the killer headache. It also made him stupidly angry. "I owe you no explanation," he growled before popping the tablet into his mouth and chasing it down with a long drink.

"What do you think would have happened had you died last night?" Evans asked harshly, anger now clearly out in the open. "Because to your family, yes, to them you owe explanation. Who do you think would have given it to them? What do you think they'd say?"

"Fuck you!" Chad bit back, trying to stand up and failing miserably, his headache further aggravated. "It wasn't my fault," he said in a lower voice. "I just was there and yes, it was the wrong place, and the wrong time. But it wasn't my fault."

His last words had been a whisper, but they kept echoing in his head. God, he could have died. He clearly remembered the ambulance's lights, the stretchers, the tablecloth somebody had thrown over a dead woman whose face was going to feature in his nightmares forever.

"How did you end there, Chad?" Evans' question was careful, his voice so soft and understanding that Chad felt the need to give him anything he wanted, to tell him everything he asked for.

And then it hit him.

"Oh but you're really good," he chuckled darkly. "Is the DEA as proud of you as Darbus was?"

Silence fell again, this time heavier and longer. "I guess I deserved it," Evans finally admitted, continuing despite Chad's grumbled _You guess?_ "That doesn't make my words any less true."

That shut Chad, until a thought materialized in his mind. "You would have told them, won't you?" he asked. "My family, I mean."

Evans looked startled for a second before his face went blank again. "I would've had to explain what I was doing there," he said, adding no more. Chad didn't need further to understand that the answer was No.

It didn't sit well with him. Even if they hadn't kept in contact, at least Evans was a familiar face, not a random stranger sent to deliver the worst possible news to his mother. In the back of his head, thought, he understood that it wasn't really the other guy's fault, no matter how much Chad wanted to put the blame on him.

Deciding to drop the subject he closed his eyes, feeling the pain slowly recede. "Where are you supposed to be?" he asked, genuinely curious. "If you're not supposed to be here, I mean."

"Around the world." That made Chad open his eyes and look at Evans again. A shrug answered his raised eyebrow. "It's easier if I don't have a fixed location, although lately I'm supposed to be staying at a monastery somewhere in Tibet."

"Tibet?" Chad's laughter, although painful, took a moment to subside. "Doing what, learning the dances and canticles?"

Evans frowned, and for a moment Chad wondered if he had unwillingly insulted him. But even if that was accurate, Evans remained seated beside him, making no motion to leave.

"Actually, after having a mental breakdown a month before graduation, I simply ran away."

And what do you say to that? Somehow _I'm sorry_ didn't seem right, because considering Evans current career, there was a chance that none of it was true. So Chad asked "Did you?", and hoped it wasn't the wrong thing to say.

"Run away? Not really, not that I can tell my family. Have a mental breakdown? Again, no. As a fact, my psychologist is forever impressed by what he calls my 'mental fortitude'."

Air quotes, Chad decided, weren't supposed to be used by real life spies.

"Well, you grew up with Sharpay."

Evans simply _hmmed_ , plucked a dandelion and spun it between his fingers until the seeds were floating away.

"That party was invitation only, Danforth," he said as he reached for another weed. "Did you know that except for your group, every one of the guests was related in one way or another to a major drug organization, escorts included?"

His mouth dry, Chad shook his head.

"Some of the guys wanted to keep all of you longer, to ask about your involvement. They weren't happy when Chief O'Shea didn't agree." He glanced at Chad before returning his attention to the dandelions. "I didn't like it, either."

 _The fuck?_ "You want me in jail?"

Evans had the grace to cringe, but his mouth was set in a decided line. "And what crimes would have you admitted to committing? None, am I right?" he asked angrily, cutting Chad's protest. "You would've eventually been released."

" _Eventually?!_ " Chad sputtered. "Do you have any idea what that would've done to my career, to my reputation?"

Evans smacked his hand down, a shower of dandelion seeds rising at the impact. "Think, Danforth! What do you think was Plan B? What do you think I'm doing here?"

As an echo, Chad heard Evans' earlier words. _And that's why I am the one doing the infiltration work_.

Oh God.

"Do they want me to spy on my team?" he asked, horrified. He was a dreadful liar, there was no way he'd be able to pull it.

Evans shook his head, clearly impatient and in agreement about Chad's inability. "No, no, I'll be the one gathering intel. _Spying_ , to use your words."

"Then what--"

"I'd usually have a few weeks, a month even, to prepare, snoop around and build a veritable background story before going in." Chad frowned, still not getting what the fuss was about. "But this time," Evans added, looking up again, right into Chad eyes, "they want to use a shortcut."

A beat of silence.

"Me?"

"How do you feel about groupies?"

"Groupies?" The day was becoming even more surreal as hours passed by.

"Yes, groupies. Sport stars have groupies, or so I've been told."

"I'm not a sport star," Chad immediately parroted, remembering his mother's talks about humility. Evans' _please bitch_ glare had him immediately backpedaling. "Okay, maybe I am, but just a real minor one."

"But you've had groupies throwing themselves at you."

"Umm, yes?" Chad admitted, not really understanding the point. "But I always turn them down."

Evans' stunned "Why?" made him smirk. Did he really believe Chad would turn into a dog, once fame was involved?

He took a moment to think how to best phrase his answer. "Well, by starters, most of them have been female," he said, feeling his face heat but making himself keep his eyes on Evans'. "But mostly because I don't do one night stands."

Evans looked at him thoughtfully. "Is that your public stance, or just your personal, private and I-think-like-this-but-nobody-else-knows stance?"

Apparently, moments of realization were something he experienced a-plenty around Evans.

"Wait a moment. Do you want to pose as a groupie? As if, as if us I mean … as _my_ groupie?" Evans looked away but nodded. "Why not my boyfriend?"

" _No_ ," Evans said forcefully, turning to look at him again, his face blank once again but his eyes furious.

Sitting up, Chad growled "Well, excuse me if I'm not good enough for--"

"Danforth." Evans' voice was lower than Chad's incensed speech, but it was so full of venom it made him shut up ASAP. "Think. Boyfriend implies close involvement, trust and confidence from both sides. If something goes wrong, if somebody finds out I'm an undercover agent, there's a high chance they'll go after you."

And yes, now that Chad thought about it, it was sort of obvious. Still …

"Not if I'm obsessed with you." He waited a second for Evans to process it before adding, "Like Zeke and-- like Zeke," he cut himself before messing things further up. "I mean, we can surely stage it as if I were head over heels with you, and unable to see you're not that into me."

Evans' expression told him clearly his thoughts on Chad almost including Sharpay in the explanation, but he also seemed to at least be dedicating part of his mind to think things over.

He eventually shook his head, dubious. "A man with such an obsession wouldn't have flirted with Parker last night."

Chad grinned easily, relieved he already had an answer for that, "Maybe he reminded me of you," and when Evans chuckled at the swiftly retort, he grinned even more. "Come on, Evans. It is perfect."

Evans glared. Again. "My name is Percival, Percival Blackney. You can call me Percy or you can call me Black, but never, ever--"

"Can I call you baby, or something?" So yes, he totally understood the need for keeping the guy's real identity secret. "Pet names would be totally much easier for me."

Chad watched Evans deflate, anger slowly dissolving. "Yes, Danforth, you may use pet names if you think that'll help. But please remember, it's Percival Blackney. Percival Blackney. Can you repeat it with me?"

"Percival Blackney. Percy or Black for short, I got it."

"I surely hope so."

It was then when the wind chose to pick up, carrying dirt and leaves and generally making the simple act of holding a conversation an almost impossible task. Chad could hear a heated "Shit!" from his companion, but he didn't dare open his eyes to see what was happening. It took a few more seconds before the wind died down, but when it did he immediately looked for Evans.

"Are you okay?"

Evans shook his head, his face scrunched up. "Do you have some water left?"

Chad looked for the abandoned bottle. "About a quarter of it," he said, trying to hand it over.

Evans, however, refused to take the bottle. "No, pour some in my hands," he ordered instead, and then "Just a little," using the poured water to wash his hands, and then "Again," to try to clean his face. "Keep some, I'll still need to-- ow ow ow."

Chad watched, cringing in sympathy while Evans tried, and eventually managed, to take his left contact off. His now half open eyes were red and puffy, the left more than the right, and tears trailed down his face, but still he managed to quickly locate a contacts' case and a bottle of cleaning liquid from the backpack.

The difference between the brown and blue irises was highly startling.

"So, Percy," Evans said conversationally while motioning for Chad to pour some more water. "He calls himself a writer but is not very good at it. He is, nonetheless, startlingly good at bonds and shares, making enough money on the Market to have a comfortable life even if he prefers for others to cover his expenses."

Chad thought it for a bit, closing the now empty bottle's lid. "Others as in," he didn't end, but Evans smirked in a definitely nasty way, obviously getting the idea.

"A sugar daddy, yes, even if Percy won't ever admit he's a kept man."

They remained silent while Evans cleaned both lenses and put them on its case, storing it and both bottles right in time, as wind picked up again.

"So the way into Percy's heart, I'm sorry, _his bed_ ," Chad said when the blast was gone and they could open their eyes again, "is via his wallet. And I'm afraid I don't win as much as other guys on the team."

"Part of the reason why Percy won't be trying to keep you," Evans said with a shrug, reaching inside the bag one more time and coming up with a pair of sunglasses, "but instead using you to reach greener pastures. Besides, there's your savings account."

The last was such an unexpected statement that for a moment Chad didn't know what to say. For the moment his NBA career had started he'd been saving the biggest part of his income because, deep down, he still expected for the trainer to realize he had made a big mistake. That the account currently held the equivalent of a decade worth of most of his high school classmates' salary baffled him to no end.

It was, also, supposed to be a secret only he and his bank knew.

"I promise, every dollar you 'spend' on Percy," and there were those air quotes again, "the DEA will give back, with interests."

It wasn't as if he was being given much of a choice, so he simply mumbled "Okay".

The sun was now high in the sky, what time was it? Twelve to noon, his wristwatch informed. The day had felt so long that he wouldn't have been surprised if he suddenly found himself in the middle of the night.

"So what else should I know about Percy?" he eventually said, trying to think in something other than money. "Where was he born, how did we met?"

"From this moment on, I'd like you to think of me as nothing other than Percy, so we'll start by stopping the use of _he_ to refer to him. I am Percy, Percy is I." Evans' whole posture changed in a blink, slouching back as if sunbathing, the remaining breeze playing with his longish brown hair. "I haven't shared personal stuff with you, that way we'll keep what you have to memorize to a minimum. We met on the street one day a couple months ago, basically bumped into each other and ended sharing a taxi and exchanging phone numbers." Chad wasn't too convinced about such scenario and Evans seemed to understand it, as he added, "Seriously. I live one block from your building apartment, in the only other building apartment in the area."

That was a surprise.

"The monthly cost there is, at least, three times what I pay. And that's no little amount."

Evans nodded, stretched like a cat. "The man who covers my expenses left the country in a hurry three days ago. This would be the perfect moment for me to be wooed into living with you." His smile was inviting in a way that made Chad feel heat spreading from his toes to the tip of his ears.

"Consider yourself wooded," he said, embarrassed at the huskiness of his voice.

Evans simply smirked, and before Chad realized what was happening, he found himself being pushed gently back into the grass. Evans lips were warm, the kiss long, calm and exploring.

When the kiss ended Evans raised his head, eyes still closed, and rested his forehead on Chad's. "Okay, there's definitely some chemistry. That's good."

Chad growled, not knowing what to say, so instead of speaking he used his weight to roll them over, Evans body fitting quite nicely under his, their lips crashing frantic and desperate.

"Of _fuck_ ," he heard Evans mumble when they separated for air, before resuming an even more heated kiss. Oh fuck indeed.

"I really don't want to be charged with public indecency," he admitted when it became obvious they were headed into dangerous grounds, surprising himself with his restrain. Evans nodded weakly and pushed him off so they were laying side by side, not a single part of their bodies touching.

Evans breathed deeply and sat up, recovering his sunglasses and putting them back on.

"A DEA agent did a search in your building earlier today, after we staged a roach infestation. There are going to be some dead bugs in your apartment due to the fumigation, sorry about that," a fleeting smile, though, said Evans found the situation quite funny. "He also found another bugs, these ones of the kind that can't be dealt with by pest control."

"Microphones, in my place? But why?"

Evans' face was way too serious for Chad's comfort.

"There's a camera right in front of your parking lot," he said, raising a finger, "microphone and camera in the building's elevator," finger number two up, "camera in the hallway where your apartment's door is located," three, "and bundled mics and cameras in each of your rooms, bathroom included," and there he decided to stop using his fingers, which Chad was thankful for, as he knew Evans didn't have enough in both his hands to count them all. "The only place where some privacy can be ensued is the bathtub/shower, so long the curtains are closed; most sounds will still be recorded, thought. All the hardware is motion activated, all packed with long life batteries, all broadcasting, not storing, the recordings. Your phones are intervened too, both the land line and the cell phone. And although the agent couldn't check without breaking his cover, the chances of spyware on your computer are pretty high."

That was -- actually, scary was not strong enough a word. But of course, all that came out of Chad's mouth when he finally could speak was " _Privacy_?"

Evans' grin was saucy and cheeky, and made Chad's body respond in ways that would certainly help their cover, but right now meant the chorus of frantic shrieking in his head was wreaking havoc and spinning at hurricane-like speeds, and God. He was going to have to _perform_. And somebody, most definitely more than one somebody, was going to be _watching_.

"You can still refuse," Evans said, his voice calm and reassuring. It worked wonders on Chad, and although he still was scared, the panic dispelled enough to make him realize Evans was telling the truth. Whatever it cost the mission or his career, Evans wasn't going to push Chad into doing something he really believed he couldn't.

"Or I could develop a shower kink," Chad joked, his voice growing steadier as he kept talking. "I've been told similar scenes are recurrent in mainstream porn."

Evans laughed, and the carefree sound helped Chad calm his nerves as much as the mental image his words had conjured did. Eventually Evans sobered up again, taking a moment to breathe deeply before sitting up and raising the sunglasses over the top of his head. "I'm serious, Danforth, whenever you feel you've had enough, whenever you want out, just tell me." His eyes were almost normal, the redness nearly gone.

They were also devoid of any hint as to whether he wanted Chad involved or not. So yes, he had already acknowledged that, originally, he hadn't wanted for Chad to be part of the operation; but still, there he was, taking the first steps into it and doing what his superiors asked of him. It had to mean that whatever information the DEA expected to win was important, perhaps even essential.

And well, before the NBA came into his life plans, Chad had dreamed of being James Bond.

"I'm in," he said with a grin, hoping to hide the fact that he wasn't a hundred percent sure this was a good idea.


	4. Chapter 4

He had called Percy from the Police Station, Evans informed him. He suggested, and Chad agreed, that given last night's events it would be believable for him to offer to house Percy for a while. So they took a cab to Percy's apartment --which although bigger than Chad's still wasn't on way another league as he had feared-- and he looked around while Evans prepared a suitcase with Percy's dearest possessions.

This apartment was wired too, this time by the DEA, a knowledge that helped him reign on the heat that blossomed at the sight of the king-sized, silk-covered bed. The sheets were of the darkest navy and flowed like water between Chad's fingers. It would have been perfect for Evans' milky white skin. Percy's light tan, on the other hand, would have been better showcased on white or a soft golden cream.

He couldn't leave the place fast enough.

On any other day he would have walked the three blocks distance to his own apartment, heavy suitcase or not; but Evans didn't have to tell him that it wasn't the way to win Percy over. The short cab trip helped him hide his painfully obvious hard-on from prying eyes, too. So he paid the driver and included a healthy tip as thanks for the lack of a knowing smile on the man's face, and followed Evans into the building first and the elevator next, trying to make it look like he wasn't wrestling Percy's suitcase into submission. It was only when the door closed that he realized that maybe, _maybe_ , the driver had been an agent too.

Which made him remember he was going to be _watched_.

He jerked out of panic when Evans curled himself over Chad's side, his warm breath tickling Chad's ear when he whispered "Relax."

Apparently adrenaline made Chad horny. In a movement faster than anything he had showed in the court, ever, he pivoted and crushed Evans into the corner, stealing a kiss from him, wet and hot and forceful. And then Evans was sucking his tongue and fuck fuck _fuck_ , there was no way he could last much longer. When most of Evans' shirt buttons were undone, he knew without a doubt they were not going to make it. He lost himself in the sight of skin, let himself lick a long strip from the sharp jaw to the beautiful shoulder, and bit down _hard_. The noise Evans made, pain and pleasure shamelessly mixing in a guttural moan, head and back hitting the wall, it was --

Somebody cleared his throat and Evans stopped, his hands halting where they had been caressing Chad's back.

"I'm sorry," a voice said somewhere outside the elevator. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Roberts. Fuck. Chad's face must have been a study of abject terror, because Evans gave him a small reassuring squeeze before his eyes shone in awe. "Oh my god, it's _you_!" He easily moved away from Chad in Robert's direction, directing the player a dazzling smile. "I'm sorry, you probably hear this all the time, but I'm such a big fan of yours."

Chad's blood felt like freezing and boiling at the same time. Evans was _flirting_ with Roberts; nothing blatant, despite the fact that he was taking way too long to button his shirt up. And worst, he obviously had an effect on Roberts, as the man's eyes shone with a flicker of interest. Yes, there was no doubt that Evans looked good enough to eat, especially with flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips -- but for as long as Chad had know Roberts, he had never shown any interest in men.

Unfortunately, rumor said he wasn't completely straight.

"Thanks, I feel honored," Roberts offered, his voice cordial. "And please accept my apologies. I wouldn't have come had I know Danforth planned to spend the day with his boyfriend."

"Oh but we're just friends," Evans hurried to say, extending his hand. "Percival Blackney, friends call me Percy but you can call me whatever you want. Would it be rude of me to ask for your autograph?"

And that made Roberts raise an eyebrow. It would have made Chad raise an eyebrow, after all, if he were to find any of his teammates about to have sex in an elevator with a person that so easily declared his availability. What was he trying to do, whore himself out?

"Percy will be living with me," he declared in an icy voice, pulling the suitcase out of the elevator and not so discretely inserting himself between Evans and Roberts before addressing the first with his best sugary tone. "Why don't you go ahead, baby? I'll catch up with you in a moment."

The roll of Evans' eyes wasn't unexpected, but the barely-there contempt in the gesture was, and Roberts' intent look only made harder for him to not flinch.

"But I still don't have my autograph!"

"I think I have something better," Roberts' said, the corner of his lips curling in a small, mischievous grin. "Party at my house tonight, Danforth. Bring Percy, would you?"

That last was, of course, one of Roberts' not-questions, so Chad could only nod, acid and rage burning his stomach.

\---

"What the hell was that?" he bellowed as soon as the apartment's door was closed.

Evans smiled impishly. " _That_ was Chris Roberts, captain of the--"

"I _know_ who he is, I _work_ with him!" Chad yelled. He took a step back and tried to calm down. "What I want to know is what you thought you were doing."

"Aw, is dear Chaddy-pu jealous?" Evans cooed with a ridiculous voice and a ridiculous smile. Unfortunately, he did it while his left hand trailed over Chad's chest and stomach, and his left went to his nape.

Fury almost diminished, Chad let himself be dragged forward, hissing when Evans pinched his nipple. "It's not funny," he managed to say before their lips collided and hormones took over. He was being played, he knew it. Sex was the way Percy kept him controlled and willing to please like an overeager puppy. Still, he couldn't help but see Evans instead of Percy, and he couldn't fool himself into believing he was reacting to Percy's seduction when his mind insisted on the fact that it was Evans' lips, Evans' hands the ones touching him.

"Should we christen the bed?" Percy said, and yes, that one was pure Percy, and yes, that made his guts churn. He nodded weakly and let himself be dragged, lust coiling in at the sultry grin and still feeling oddly detached. He was with Percy, a brown haired, brown eyed, bronzed version of a person he hadn't seen in years; and despite how hard he tried he couldn't help but see blue eyes behind the contacts, blond hair behind the dye, paler skin under the tanning.

His body was still thrumming with desire, but he knew he wasn't reacting the way he was supposed to. He wasn't reacting the way he had before, at the park and at the elevator, like he couldn't keep his hands from Percy. No, not Percy: Evans. Because although he knew Evans was playing a part, he didn't really see Percy until they'd met Roberts.

So all he had to do was the absolutely worst he should at the circumstances. It almost felt like the air changed, charged with the electricity from earlier. Evans seemed to feel it too, as he looked up from where he had been kissing Chad's chest. He didn't stop, just barely paused, but something was definitely different. Chad looked, as in slow motion, as Evans licked his lips, just the rosy tip of tongue wetting them before reaching down to drop another kiss to Chad's chest.

And it

He was

Fuck, he was naked, and he had a naked Ryan Evans in his bed, and they were having _sex_ , and Evans' lips were leaving a trail of fire on his skin, and he was already leaking and about to absolutely embarrass himself in the worst way possible. So he reached down, pulled a surprised Evans to exactly the perfect position and kissed him while pushing him on his back and covering the lither body with his own. And maybe Evans would later complain about Chad always trying to use his superior body mass to subdue Evans, but so far he seemed to enjoy it too, and that was enough for the moment. It _had_ to be enough, Chad mussed, desperately trying to make it last a little bit longer. He wanted more than some frantic humping, he wanted to-- oh god, he _wanted_. Maybe if he made Evans come first be wouldn't feel so much like an inexperienced, horny teenager. Maybe--

He wasn't expecting for Evans to come as soon as Chad reached for him, handjob now obviously unnecessary. He definitely wasn't expecting to be pulled along into the most unpredicted orgasm he had experienced in his life, either. It left him wondering, afterwards, just what the hell had happened, blinks of Evans lost in bliss just half remembered memories instead of the clear recollection he had been looking forward to.

It left him hysterically content, nonetheless.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason the versions of this fic's Chapter 4 on the AO3 and the FFnet archives were different. I've fixed it now, but because of it those who have read in FFnet might find the first part of Chapter 5 familiar -- you aren't imagining things, guys! I apologize for this :(.
> 
> There's still a ~500 words difference between both fics, and I can't find what the reason for it might be. I know for sure it is not due to the AN, and as far as I can see all chapters start and end the same in both archives. *sigh* Any ideas of what might be happening?

They ended in the tub, water warm and bathroom steamy, Evans lazily cocooned between Chad's legs. Looking over the brown, now slightly curly head, Chad languidly marveled at the mastership of Evans' hairdresser. McLaren had more than once bedded a girl whose extensions didn't survive a night of sex. He and Evans hadn't been wild in any hair-pulling extent, so it wasn't as if he expected to find tufts of hair on his pillows - but this close, even he would have found hard to believe that last night Evans' hair had been short.

The splash of water broke his train of thought. Evans was obviously more flexible than Chad would ever expect to be, as he managed to turn himself around and into straddling Chad's lap without injury for any of them.

"I think oblivious isn't the path to go," Evans mumbled into Chad's ear before busying himself with a trail of little bites along Chad's jaw. "Maybe jealous? It should work the same," he continued after reaching the other ear.

Chad, whose neurons had gone bye-bye the moment his brain caught up with the fact that, again, he was naked, with a naked Ryan Evans, and in a situation that could very likely devolve into the two of them _Having Sex_ , counted himself lucky when he managed to deliver a half-moaned "Wha?"

Evans huffed in undisguised contempt, bit Chad's ear just _this_ side of painful, "Focus, Danforth," and then grinded their groins together in a way that was not helpful at all but felt oh so good. "Think you can play jealous boyfriend?" Evans asked in a whisper that didn't quite manage to hide the breathlessness of its owner.

"Yes, d'finit'ly," Chad promptly delivered, remembering the anger from earlier. He didn't expect to find himself alone in the bathtub in response to his eagerness. "Hey what-" he started to complain, but Evans just flapped at him before continuing out of the bathroom.

He waited what felt like _hours_ , feeling more and more idiotic, until Evans returned. And, instead of going directly to Chad's side, he went to the sink. To wash his hands, what the hell? Fortunately he didn't take long, and bewilderment was promptly supplanted by realization that he hadn't had the chance to properly view Evan's naked body before. He didn't manage more than a longish glance this time, though, and then Evans was climbing back into the tub and pulling the curtain closed.

Oh, the cameras. How could he keep forgetting that there was a record, somewhere, of him having sex with a _man_? So yes, the team knew he was gay, but it hadn't been in his plans originally. And this, _this_ , was what he had been trying to prevent. He didn't want any wild rumor doing the rounds, any mindless speculation on his private life and his dating status splashed all over the headlines. He'd never wanted to be faced with the tabloid picture of a one-night conquest proclaiming what he liked and how he did it, or with TV hosts joking about his proclivities in the morning news, or with paparazzi making his life hell to manage one embarrassing take after another.

He just wanted to be an NBA player, god damn it, and now somebody had the equivalent of a homemade porn movie of him and

"Is that a _condom_?" His voice was ridiculously high pitched, but it could be excused, as there had never _ever_ been condoms in his apartment. The knowledge he had of what STD could do and the lack of protection served as determent, when he needed-

"Water proof," Evans solicitously provided, slipping it over Chad's partly softened erection and bringing it back to attention. He then slid his grip twice up and down the covered length, not that Chad could clearly see what happened under the water's surface, but he could damn _feel_ it quite too well. And, when Evans kept his hand steady around the base of Chad's dick and started lowering himself, it didn't take a genius to realize what was going on.

"Wait wait wait," Chad almost shouted in panicky rush, no matter that both his hands had attached themselves to Evans' hips and seemed wholeheartedly invested in helping him rush down. "I want …"

He wanted candle light and glasses of wine, and to make love while cushioned on the petals of a thousand roses. He wanted moon light and epic ballads as background soundtrack, and high declarations of true love and forever, and marriage, or at least commitment. So yeah, he was a romantic, he had been aware of it for years now. And even when he had barely known Evans in their previous life, and even when he knew him even less nowadays, it didn't change the fact that he wanted _meaningful_.

Which the two of them, two strangers, couldn't have … especially not in his department; the best next thing under their circumstances, he realized, was what Evans was offering: intimacy, as much as they could manage despite the cameras and the microphones. So he said "Okay" and "Sorry," and then "Okay" again, while helping Evans join them, fighting to keep himself steady when Evans finally stopped and half-closed his eyes in a grimace that was only a hint pained.

They didn't talk, not even in whispers. What they did, it wasn't like anything Chad had done before. And yes, he would've been the first one to admit that he didn't have a lot of experience, but even a novice like himself had no problem realizing that the uniqueness of the act had nothing to do with the location, and everything to do with the fact that Evans kept his focus completely and single-mindedly on Chad.

Later, after they had drained the bathtub and were cleaning themselves again, this time in the shower and with the curtain still closed, Chad's brain came to the horrible realization that Percy what's-his-name was to him what Peter Parker had been to Oscar Salvatti.

"There are many things I don't know about you." Given what they'd talked earlier he guessed it was a safe topic, and so he said it out loud.

Evans' glance told him he had gotten the second meaning. "A bit of mystery is always good," he said, his voice carrying a hint of mischievousness even if it didn't reflect in his face. _For real_ , he mouthed, only for Chad to see.

Chad nodded; he had figured it out so far. After all, if worst came to be and the bad guys, whoever they were, came for him, his chances would probably be better if he didn't know a thing. The DEA's chances would definitely be better if he didn't know a thing, and perhaps him being kept in the dark was the reason why he wasn't currently locked somewhere.

* * *

"He's cute," Montoya said to Chad, later that night. They were, once again, the only two on the team sober enough to pass an alcohol test. The party was a mishmash of earsplitting music, pulsing lights, freely flowing liquor (and, slightly more discreetly, drugs) and barely clad anonymous young and pretty bodies.

Just a standard Roberts' party.

"That he is," Chad acknowledged, watching Evans work the room. Even if his clothes were significantly more discreet than that of the many other strangers Roberts had either hired or invited, depending on whether they were professional or simply enthusiastic, something about the guy made him the focus wherever he went.

It was grating Chad's nerves in all the wrong ways.

"He's trouble, too," Montoya added, and there was a serious look in his face when Chad turned to look at him. "Seriously, Danforth. Not worth it."

Chad growled and turned back to Evans-watching, not bothering to answer. He didn't have to have it pointed out. It was becoming painfully obvious that Percival Black-whatever wasn't all that much interested in him.

"The sex is totally worthy," he blurted, surprising both Montoya and himself.

"Totally didn't need to know that," Montoya managed when the chortles subsided. "But if you want my advice, not that you're asking for it," he hurried to add before Chad could interrupt, "cut it before you get too attached to young, cute and charming."

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

"Maybe it's a little late for that," Chad admitted, leaving his beer bottle in the nearest surface because, well. McLaren was approaching Evans, _Percy_ , whatever. "If you excuse me …"

He didn't make much advance, though, as Xian chose that exact moment to show up with a "Hey guys? The Coach wants to see us."

On the other side of the room Davison materialized at McLaren's side, whispering in his ear a message that was potentially the same the two of them had just been subject to. Montoya and Chad shared a puzzled look before turning it on Xian, who simply shrugged, signaling he couldn't or wouldn't answer their question.

 _Us_ , Chad discovered when the media room's door closed behind him, meant _Roberts' little gang_. Which, per usual, was the source of everything meaningful taking place in the team, both sport and mess related. The Coach was in street clothes, not that Chad expected him to be attending the party, and seemed to have been engaged in a heated discussion with Roberts before the rest of them entered the room. His face was red and his fists closed forcefully enough to make the man's scars stand up in white crisscross lines across his knuckles.

He was obviously trying to rein his temper, as he breathed deeply and forced his face to relax. And then he turned to Chad. "Danforth, are you okay?"

Chad, knowing there were way too many reasons for the Coach to be rightfully angry with him, drew a blank when it came to finding the correct answer to a question he had no idea how to interpret. Somehow, _Sorry sir, it won't ever happen again_ didn't seem to cut it.

"I, uh, yessir?" he finally stuttered, after Montoya helpfully elbowed him.

"I didn't like leaving you behind," the Coach admitted, his hawk-like eyes locking on Chad's and seemingly intent to delve in his deepest secrets, "but if there's one player in this team that I can trust to survive unscratched a close encounter with law, that's you."

Oh wow, was that a compliment? "Um, thanks?" Chad said, just in case.

And apparently that was the right thing to say, because the Coach's attention finally moved on, taking all of them for a moment before signaling they should all sit. The man sighed heavily while perching on the closest couch's arm. "About last night's situation, I don't know how you ended there and _I don't want to know_ ," he stressed, glaring at each of them in turn. "But I need you all to understand that, of all of the stupid things I've seen in my career, and trust me when I say I've seen a lot of stupid things, this tops the list … by far, uncontested, and possibly for ages to come."

Silence hung thick and weighty, nobody daring to add a word, before he continued. "And I don't mean it was lacking judgment career-wise, I couldn't care less about your personal careers. But were this, or a similar situation to be publicly known, you would be paying a disservice to the team, to basketball, and to professional sport all around. What the _hell_ were you thinking? No," he threw his hands up, "I don't want to know."

"At least this time you had the courtesy to stay at one of your places," he added, getting up and starting to pace the length of the room, "not that you should be partying today, of all days," he said with a glare to the team's captain that made clear what the subject of his discussion with Roberts had been.

"People will be leaving within the hour," Roberts retorted in a tone that tried not too hard to be conciliatory. "It's just a little reunion, something to show the world we have nothing to hide."

Xian raised an eyebrow and Montoya coughed weakly, both signs Chad knew by experience meant they were uncomfortable. Still, none other among the team players added a thing. The Coach seemed to take that as either consent or proof that he couldn't do more at the moment, because he shook his head and left the room without saying anything else.

McLaren was the first to move, getting up to serve himself a drink from the minibar. "Man, one day your luck is going to come to an end," he said, looking at Roberts - not that his world could have been directed to any other of them.

When Roberts didn't answer and instead glared at their teammate, Davidson shrugged. "The owners _love_ him. They'd fire the Coach before even thinking of letting Robbie go."

And that, Chad mussed, was the team's (and Roberts') main problem: the man was a genius in the basketball court, nobody would deny that simple truth, but the fact that he could do whatever he wanted without consequence made him difficult, if not impossible, to work with.

"Maybe we should-" Montoya started to say, just to be interrupted when Roberts got up and walked to the door.

"Party's over!" he bellowed to the crowd, receiving boos and catcalls in reply. He then turned to their little group. "You're welcome to spend the night," he said, an offer he customarily made even if Chad had never made use of it. "And if you do, McLaren, please remember: bedroom, bed. No, let me correct that: _guest_ bedroom. I don't want any more surprises," and with that he left.

Once the door closed and the party's noise was muffled again, the five of them exchanged looks.

"We look like shit," Chad announced, as always more at ease when the team's captain was out of the equation. "That is, assuming I look somewhat like you do."

That earned him well-natured chuckles all around.

"Worse, actually," McLaren was swift to retort, a twinkle in his eye making Chad twitch uncomfortable in his seat. "I think the rest of us slept some in the evening. Whereas you …"

" _I_ think I'm going to follow the example of our mighty leader and call it a night," Davidson winked at Chad, getting up and patting his pockets. "And it seems I've misplaced my keys once again. Monty, raid?"

Montoya, whom Chad had seen discreetly take Davidson's keys earlier in the night, simply nodded. "Anyone else?" he asked, looking at Xian, as the three of them usually left together.

This time, though, was one of those occasions when they didn't, as Xian shook his head. "Nah, I think I'll pass."

"And I better go back outside before Roberts scares everybody away," McLaren said, already opening the door. "There was this cute little thing I'm sure will be interested in-" and whatever he said afterwards was lost as he left for the music-drowned rest of the apartment.

"I just hope it isn't _your_ cute little thing."

Despite Davidson's joking tone, the words feel like a death sentence to Chad, and he hurried out without looking back.


End file.
